


The Behavior of Madmen

by silentdescant



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, Suspicions, first wizarding war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2111808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius suspects Remus of being a traitor. He's not all that subtle about it. Things aren't going well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Behavior of Madmen

**Author's Note:**

> I just finished a total reread of HP (and Shoebox), and I've been on a really intense Remus/Sirius kick this time around, which is sort of new for me. Anyway, I wanted some fic about this time of their lives, when they didn't trust each other, but I haven't found much (yet) so I had to write about it instead. This is just one evening's writing exercise, unbeta'd, but it's something complete for once, so here it is.

Remus sighs as he takes off his heavy coat and unwinds his scarf from around his neck. He’s been sighing a lot lately, but he can’t help it. He just feels so weary; he’s bone-tired and strained all the time. Coming home—to Sirius’s house—isn’t even the respite he feels it should be. Sirius is stressed too, and stress makes him angry. He’s twitchy all the time, like sitting in one place will drive him mad, and so caustic and short-tempered that Remus can hardly stand to talk to him.

He’s not home at the moment, which is less troubling than it should be. Remus fixes himself a cup of tea and sits on the sofa with it cradled in both hands, letting it warm him from the outside in. He doesn’t put on any records, doesn’t reach for a book. He stares at the blank wall above their fireplace and lets his mind go blank and quiet in this brief moment of peace.

He shouldn’t be feeling this way. He thinks it’s strange, and concerning, that he feels like every day is a recovery from his monthly transformation. The moon isn’t even for another two weeks. Remus sighs again and hates himself a little bit for it. It shouldn’t be this difficult to be an adult.

Before he knows it, the tea has gone cold in his hands and Sirius is stepping out of the fireplace in a swirl of green flames. He stops short at the sight of Remus staring in his direction but doesn’t speak.

They go about separate routines, these days. Remus eats when he gets home from work; Sirius eats whenever he has a spare moment. Remus stays up late and sleeps in late—his current job keeps him busy only in the evenings—while Sirius doesn’t seem to have a set schedule. They share a bed, still, but they’re both so exhausted or sore that they never do more than sleep.

Sirius comes back from the kitchen with a piece of toast in one hand and crumbs in his scraggly, overgrown stubble. He sits in the chair opposite Remus and kicks his feet up on the coffee table between them.

“I’m going back to James’s tonight,” he says.

Remus startles a little at the sudden start to an actual conversation. “Oh,” he says. He looks down at his mug, which is still full and now entirely unappealing, and carefully sets it beside Sirius’s booted feet.

“Have you been staring at walls again?” Sirius asks bitingly as he munches on his toast.

“I got distracted,” Remus replies. “I was having tea and then…” And then something like two hours had passed in the blink of an eye. He wonders, sometimes, if this sort of issue with time could be a spell or maybe a curse. It happens to him all too often, but it can’t be that common. He sometimes wonders if he’s under the influence of the Imperious Curse, but that’s ridiculous. He would know.

“Sirius,” he says suddenly, “you would know if I’d been cursed, wouldn’t you?”

Sirius’s eyes narrow and he leans forward in his chair. Remus regrets the question at once: not only does it cast suspicions on himself, but what if Sirius has cursed him? He’s certainly had every opportunity, and he’s clever enough and powerful enough to make it both efficient and subtle.

“Never mind,” he says. “How was your day?”

“Going back to James’s later,” Sirius replies slowly. “Got to finish up some Order business we were working on.”

“Must be nice,” Remus mutters.

Sirius’s expression pinches, like he’s tasting something extremely sour. The crinkle between his eyebrows appears and everything.

“I’m sorry I’m not… contributing,” Remus says then. “You know how hard it is these days.” He does honestly feel bad about being unable to support himself. Sirius, and James too, never used to mind covering his costs or letting him stay for extended periods rent-free, but maybe this is part of why Sirius is always stressed these days. Maybe Remus’s meager muggle paycheck isn’t enough.

Sirius doesn’t reply at all: he doesn’t brush aside the apology and he doesn’t accept it, or demand more. He doesn’t even look like he’s heard Remus.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m not myself,” Remus admits. “Sometimes I feel like a ghost.” When Sirius still doesn’t reply, Remus fixes him with a hard, hurt stare and says, “You don’t even talk to me anymore.”

He retreats quickly, taking his mug and emptying it into the kitchen sink. He takes his time scrubbing out the mug and drying it by hand with a dishtowel, but Sirius never follows. Remus goes from the kitchen directly to bed.

If Sirius comes in that night before going back to the Potters’, it’s after Remus falls asleep. He sleeps soundly for close to ten hours and wakes up still exhausted and very much alone.

Peter doesn’t trust him anymore, Remus knows. James and Lily have been distant as well—though they’re in hiding now, so at least they have an excuse, if they bothered to explain. But now Remus is sure that Sirius no longer trusts him either, and that hurts more than anything else. He almost craves the moon and the painful transformation, because at least when Sirius is a dog, he’s easy to read. This mistrust and quiet, sniping anger is slowly driving Remus mad.

Without leaving his bed, Remus summons a bit of parchment and a quill and pens a note to Dumbledore, practically begging for an assignment that would take him away. He needs to be out of this house, interacting with people other than the muggles he cooks for at the diner. He feels so useless, sitting at home with his cold tea while James and Sirius and even Peter are off doing important work for the Order. Remus doesn’t put any of these feelings into the note, just the simple plea for something to do, and as soon as it’s sent, he begins packing his suitcase.

Remus waits in the living room for Dumbledore’s reply, but Sirius beats it home. He steps out of the fireplace as he had the previous night, his cloak swirling around his legs in the rush of flames, and, as he had last night, he falters at the sight of Remus on the sofa. His dark eyes jump from Remus to the suitcase and back again, and he leans in, looming as best he can from the other side of the coffee table.

“What are you doing, then?”

“Waiting,” Remus says.

“Staring at walls again?” Sirius snaps. “Is that all you do these days? Sit here and stare at walls like a bloody useless lump?”

“I sent a letter to Dumbledore,” Remus explains. “I want to do something.”

Sirius gestures violently to the suitcase. “What’s that for, then? Are you leaving?”

“I hope so,” Remus whispers. He can’t meet Sirius’s eyes any longer.

He sees, in his periphery, Sirius run his fingers through his hair repeatedly, tangling it into a mess hanging limply around his face. It’s a habit Sirius has when he’s upset, but Remus thinks Sirius should be grateful. He won’t have to keep up avoiding Remus all the time, and he won’t have to be vigilant and careful in his own house. It’s better for both of them if Remus leaves for a while.

Dumbledore’s owl comes, then, tapping at the window insistently. Remus goes to retrieve it and reads the letter quickly.

“I am sorry I’m such a burden,” Remus tells Sirius with a sigh of relief. “I’ll be leaving the country for a little while. Being useful.”

“Are you mad?” Sirius asks. He sounds both incredulous and a little desperate, though Remus can’t begin to guess why that might be. “You choose now of all times to disappear?”

“I’m not disappearing, Sirius,” Remus replies calmly. “I’m going where I’m needed. Just as I’m sure you do every other night you don’t come home.”

Without another word, Remus picks up his suitcase and goes to the door to put on his coat and scarf. As he’s wrapping it around his neck, Sirius catches his arm and holds it firmly.

“Don’t go,” he says gravely. “Not now.”

Remus gives him a pitying look, one that clearly states what he can’t bring himself to say aloud: You don’t really want me here. Instead, he says, “I have to.” He opens the door to a rush of cold air.

“I have a bad feeling,” Sirius says. “You shouldn’t leave.”

“Sirius,” Remus sighs. “When things are alright again, when James and Lily are safe, then maybe we can try this again. But right now, it isn’t working.”

“What will you do during the moon?” Sirius asks desperately. “You can’t leave.”

“I’ll take care of myself.”

Sirius clings to his arm. He looks younger than he’s looked in years; there’s fear in his eyes. “Remus, don’t,” he says.

Remus wants to ask why, but the fear he sees in Sirius frightens him as well. He wrenches out of Sirius’s grasp and takes a few steps down the path before apparating.

He doesn’t hear about James and Lily’s deaths until almost two weeks after Halloween, and by that point, Peter’s also been killed and Sirius has been carted off to Azkaban without trial. In one fell swoop, Remus’s entire life is destroyed. The only upside is that the Dark Lord has disappeared without a trace, and Death Eaters are being rounded up all over England.

Remus decides not to return home. It was never his house, anyway, and he has all the belongings he needs. Dumbledore’s message indicated that the Potters’ boy was safe with Lily’s family, and that the Order had disbanded—Remus’s assignment was over. Useless and unemployable once again, Remus has no reason to go back.

Almost twelve years go by before he sees Sirius again: his old friend is unrecognizable in the raving madman on wanted posters and in the muggle news. Twelve years since he laid eyes on Sirius, but not a single day passed that did not include some form of idle wondering about or obsessive analysis of Sirius’s behavior that last night they spoke. But Sirius is quite obviously deranged, driven mad by his time with the Dementors and he was suspiciously angry and cagey for months before his betrayal. His behavior doesn’t make sense, but Remus supposes the behavior of madmen hardly ever does. It was a strange, confusing time, he concludes, every time he thinks about it. Nothing more.

 

 _fin_.


End file.
